I've Always Pictured You As Watson
by Agentsofsuperwholocked
Summary: He couldn't take his eyes of his wife as she walked into the room, looking like she owned it. He could only watch in wonder as she lead the way, heads turning to see who she was. She looked taller than she was, and he supposed she was. Her heels added another couple of inches to her height.


**This was just a lil thing I wrote to celebrate SDCC. What a weekend that was for the AOS fanbase.**

He couldn't take his eyes of his wife as she walked into the room, looking like she owned it. He could only watch in wonder as she lead the way, heads turning to see who she was. She looked taller than she was, and he supposed she was. Her heels added another couple of inches to her height, and she didn't stumble when she walked in them. But it wasn't just the heels that added height to her. No, there was an air of confidence about her that he had only seen return recently, the way that she carried herself like how she used to. She was no longer carrying the weight of the world on her shoulder, holding the burden of guilt.

She turned to face him, a massive smile dancing upon her face. They hadn't had a day out like this since before they had joined Coulson's team. It felt much longer than the number of years it had been, their traumas adding so much to it.

She was standing there, waiting for him and seeing her that happy was all that he wanted in life. To see her this happy, this full of joy was something that he wanted to see every day.

"What?" she asked as he approached her, taking her hand in his own.

"It's just you," he said, as she started to walk, him falling into step beside her.

"Just me what?" she asked, turning to face him. "Are you admitting I'm a better Sherlock?"

He laughed at this, and in response she raised an eyebrow. It had been an argument that they had been having in the weeks leading up to the convention. Who would be Sherlock and who would be Watson? In the end, Jemma had managed to give the winning argument (and by winning argument, she had went out a brought a long coat and a purple shirt, and Fitz couldn't argue anymore with that. She looked _much_ better in it than he would. Not that he would admit that), and Fitz had agreed to go as Watson.

"You are, aren't you?"

He nodded, knowing that it was better than to argue with his wife at this point. She still held the fact that he had once said the cosmos was against them over his head, and he knew that if he admitted this early then hopefully it wouldn't be that bad.

She gave a victorious, smug grin before she whispered in his ear. "You know what they call his shirt?" She didn't wait for a reply, just paused to increase the tension between them. "The Purple Shirt of Sex…"

He turned his head towards her, and allowed himself to whisper in her ear. She tensed at his voice, low and full of promise, his breath hot on her neck. "Are you asking me for something Jemma Simmons? Because if you are, I would more than be happy to meet that request…" He trailed off, allowing her to imagine the rest.

Her breath caught in her throat, her mind now wondering to what could happen tonight. So many exciting and intriguing possibilities.

"Earth to Jemma!" Fitz called, shaking her hand. "If you would ever so kindly get your mind out of the gutter…"

Jemma looked aghast at this. What was Fitz implying by this? And anyway, he was the one who had suggested it, she was just imagining how extraordinary it would be. "Well, _Dr. Watson_ , I wasn't the one who suggested what you had in mind. I was simply telling you some trivia about the show. It was you who…." She trailed of as his lips danced down her neck, his stubble tickling the tender flesh.

"I know," he murmured. "But we're in public. We can't do anything, not here. Not now."

Jemma pouted, knowing that he was right. "But," he continued. "We can still have fun. This is what, our first convention in nearly five years?"

She thought on this, and then nodded. It really had been that long. "Well, then Doctor Watson, the game is on."

It was late afternoon, the day almost at an end, and they were at a panel that they had been eager to attend. It was for some science fiction show that had been cancelled too early, which still had a small but loyal fan base.

Which meant few seats where taken up.

Which meant that they had the row to themselves.

And Jemma had her feet on Fitz's lap, who was ever so kindly massaging her feet. Her heels had been abandoned, she was no longer able to stick wearing them. Fitz had resisted the urge to tell her that if she had listened to him, then they wouldn't be sore, but he knew from past experiences that that was not a good idea.

"Fitz," she whined, lifting one foot in the air, and rubbing it in his face. "It's sore."

He gently pushed it out of the way. "Despite the fact you are wearing tights, your feet still don't smell the greatest."

"Ugh Fitz," she joked, rolling her eyes, and proceeding to rub it across his face again. "My feet smell amazing."

In response to this, he did something that he promptly regretted. He tickled the underside of her foot. He knew just how much Jemma hated that. Just how much it annoyed her. And her response to it. Kicking. And he did end up being kicked, quite painfully, across the face.

When a member of staff took to the stage, and apologised, saying that the panel wouldn't be going ahead due to such a small turn out. There were audible groans from everyone as they started to pick up their stuff and make their way back to the convention floor.

The two of them remained there for a moment, Jemma not really wanting to move. She was somewhat disappointed at this news and her feet weren't really up to the challenge of walking her any further. "I really wanted to ask her what her character's true motives were, and how they impacted the scientific base of the show," Jemma mused aloud, not really talking to any one in particular. "Because if you re-watch the show, then everything is different. I really wanted to know her opinion and that of the writers."

"I know," Fitz said, feeling his wife's disappointment. He knew how much she loved this show, and how much being here had meant to her. "But you got the autograph. And we can come back tomorrow, ask again?"

"We can?" Jemma asked, sitting up. They had only gotten one day tickets.

"Sure, we've nothing happening tomorrow."

Her face lit up at this. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Only every day," he said, and she sat up, feeling her tights rip.

"No," she whispered, twisting herself to spin around so she could see what happened. A ladder was making its way down the back of her left leg. "No."

"Here," Fitz offered, already knowing what to do in this emergency. He passed her a bottle of clear nail polish, and she accepted it with thanks, already working on preventing the ladder from spreading any further. Once she was done, she passed it back to him, and he placed it back in the satchel they had brought with them.

Both standing, he lifted their stuff off the ground, including her shoes. "Coming?"

"How am I supposed to get back to the car? I can't walk in these tights."

"Who said anything about walking?"

If anyone found anything suspicious about a Doctor John Watson giving a laughing, female Sherlock a piggyback across the hall and out the door, they didn't say anything. Fitz supposed that they had seen weirder things in their time than this.

Setting Jemma back down on the ground in the car park, he unlocked their car and placed all their stuff in the backseat as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Once he joined her in the front of the car, he turned to her, still in awe at her. They had only been married a number of months now, but it was still a surreal experience to him. Waking up next to her every morning. Her being the last thing that he saw every night.

And now, the way the late afternoon sun hit off her, the shadows it cast, made her look simply divine. There were no other words for it.

"What?" she asked, wondering what he was looking at. She smiled back at her husband. The way he looked at her, the way he seemed to brighten up in her presence, just how much happier he seemed simply being with her... she wanted to be able to do that every day, to be able to give him that.

"I love you," he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

She met him halfway, allowing his lips to dance across hers, soft, tender. She savoured every moment of it, a moan of pleasure escaping from her as his teeth ever so gently caught the edge of her lip, his hands freely roaming now.

Not even the cheer from a crowd passing them was enough to break them apart.

 **I honestly have no idea what this is. It's just them being cute and all. I have been to a couple of cons in my life that are local in cosplay, and I know some of the struggles that happen, fortunately my cosplay hasn't ripped (I did overheat nearly once and have nearly broke my ankle multiple times) and I can't wear heels so I escaped that... And the clear nail polish is an essential with tights, I never went to school without it! Thanks so much for checking out and reading, feel free to leave any con stories you've had in the comments!**


End file.
